Koa
by callensensei
Summary: In the days following "The Hunter," the koa tree means two very different things to the Skipper and Gilligan.
1. Chapter 1

**Koa**

It was the third morning after Jonathan Kinkaid had left the island...the first morning Gilligan had felt safe enough to wash his face. He had barely slept all night, his hammock hanging empty while he crouched beneath his blanket in the corner, but when the shadows melted away with the dawn the familiar sight of the Skipper still asleep in the lower sack was like an anchor to his storm-tossed nerves. Gilligan lay watching him as the tropical sun burst over the island, while the sounds of murmured conversation and the smell of woodsmoke and brewing coffee wafted on the morning breeze.

At last, keeping his eyes on the snoring Skipper, the first mate slowly uncurled himself and crept to the wash stand. But the water jug was empty, and so was the cask. Gilligan shivered. Getting water would mean going out, away from the Skipper. Nervously he looked out of the hut window, but the sight of Mary Ann and Ginger setting the table for breakfast and the Professor tending the fire under the coffee pot was normal and reassuring. Gilligan took the water jug and crept out, flight instincts at the ready.

Mary Ann was arranging a garland of frangipani around the plates. She spoke in hushed tones. "That's strange. How much wood has he chopped, Professor?"

"About enough cords to last through a backwoods Ohio winter." Squatting by the campfire, Roy Hinkley frowned as he examined the golden-red chunk of wood in his hand. "And all koa wood...such a waste of such a beautiful, strong material when driftwood would do just as well."

"Couldn't you tell him that, Professor?" asked Ginger.

"I did. And he told me that collecting firewood was his detail, and he didn't want to hear any more about it. In no uncertain terms, I might add." The Professor tossed the wood onto the fire and shook his head. "I'm concerned for him, girls. He's just not himself."

"I doubt any of us are, after what happened," said Ginger, with a shudder. "But him most of all...well, of course, I mean, except for—"

"Gilligan!" cried Mary Ann, as she suddenly saw him.

Gilligan jumped two feet at her cry and took two swift steps towards the jungle. At once Mary Ann stepped forwards and caught his arm. "It's all right, Gilligan," she whispered, in her gentlest voice. "It's just me."

"It's just us, Gilligan," murmured Ginger, her long fingers also brushing his arm. "Only us. It's all right."

Gilligan breathed deeply, fighting hard for control. The gentle voices of the women echoed indistinctly as though underwater, and the Professor's soothing tones were just as warped and muffled. Gilligan felt the terrible smothering silence of the jungle engulfing him...the silence that meant that _he_ was near....and just as he tensed to bolt, one last voice broke through that fog of darkness. _Gilligan, little buddy. I'm right here._

The first mate shook himself and gulped in a great breath, like a drowning man finally breaking the surface. He blinked and focussed. "Skipper?" he whispered.

"Right here, Gilligan." It was the Skipper's strong hand on his arm now, and the Skipper's blue eyes, bright with worry, that searched his own. "What happened, little buddy? What are you doing out here?"

Gilligan blinked again, breathing deeply, and lifted the jug. "I just wanted to get some water to wash," he said quietly.

His simple response relaxed them all; they smiled and sighed in relief. "Here, Gilligan," said Mary Ann, gently pulling on the jug. "I'll get some for you."

"No...I can do it," he said, hanging onto the jug. "The trough's just over here..." He turned and pointed to a great empty space in the middle of the camp, then stared. Perplexed, Gilligan walked slowly to the place where the trough had lain while the others followed him. When he reached the bare spot he stooped and waved in the air, as though the long box of bamboo had simply turned invisible. The impression of its base was still in the sand. Gilligan turned to his friends. "The fresh water trough...where is it?"

For some reason the Skipper would not meet Gilligan's eyes. Mary Ann stepped forwards. "The Skipper got rid of it, Gilligan. He said it was leaking."

"But...it wasn't leaking three days ago," said Gilligan.

"Yes it was," said the Skipper, turning abruptly for the table. "So I took it away and got rid of it. What's for breakfast, Mary Ann?"

"You didn't try to fix it?" Gilligan blinked in confusion as he walked slowly to the table. "But...I've still got that sticky stuff I used to line the bathtub."

The Skipper waved his hand in dismissal. "Forget about it, little buddy. Darn thing was an eyesore. Good for nothing but collecting leaves and bugs! A trough is for a horse, not for people!" He pulled back a bench, sat down, and pointed to the place beside him. "Come on. Let's eat."

But Gilligan wouldn't give up. It was one more piece of normality suddenly ripped from his world. "Well, maybe we could use it as a box for firewood," he urged. "Where'd you put it, Skipper?"

The Professor, who had been watching both men intently, spoke up before the Skipper could reply. "Gilligan, it _is_ firewood now. The Skipper chopped it up for kindling."

"What?" Now Gilligan moved slowly around to the other side of the table, trying to catch the Skipper's eyes. "All that work to build it...and you chopped it up? Bamboo doesn't even burn so good!"

"Gilligan, what's the difference? We've got enough bamboo to build us a bridge from here to Hawaii. We don't need it."

"But—"

"Look, it's gone, and that's that!" The Skipper's tone brooked no argument. "We'll build something else to hold the water. Now not another word about it, all right?"

Mary Ann gently took the jug from Gilligan's hand. "I'll get your water, Gilligan. Breakfast is nearly ready."

Meanwhile Ginger slid smoothly in beside the Skipper and placed her hand on his arm. "Come on, Skipper. Try my new jelly sand-dabs. I just know you'll love them." She glanced nervously over her shoulder at the Professor, who fingered his chin as his brows lowered in worry.

"Good morning, everyone," came the cheerful voice of Thurston Howell the Third. He and his wife strolled up beside the campfire in matching safari outfits. "My, that coffee does smell good." Suddenly Mr. Howell noticed Gilligan, and his voice immediately softened. "Why Gilligan, my boy, how good to see you up!"

"Did you get a good rest, dear?" asked Mrs. Howell anxiously.

"Yes, my boy, how are you feeling? How about a relaxing game of golf today? I tell you what: why don't I be caddy and you simply--" Mr. Howell slowed to a stop. "Good heavens, son, whatever is the matter?"

Gilligan barely heard the millionaire. He was staring at Mr. Howell's grey Australian bush hat with the brim pinned up on one side, and backing towards the hut. "Gilligan, dear, what is it?" he heard Mrs. Howell's voice dimly, as in a dream. "Why do you keep staring at Mr. Howell like that?"

The Skipper was on his feet in a moment, whispering fiercely. "Are you out of your mind, Howell? The hat! For Heaven's sake, lose the hat!"

Mr. Howell snatched off the hat – the hat that looked exactly like Jonathan Kinkaid's – and gasped in horrified recognition. "Oh, dear Lord! Gilligan, forgive me! I never meant to--"

"Gilligan! Wait, little buddy!"

But Gilligan heard no more. He tore into the jungle as the voices behind him and the hat of the man who had nearly murdered him merged in the blind fog of his fear.

In the depths of the jungle two days later, he only crawled out of hiding when he heard the Skipper calling him. Once home, Gilligan curled up by the campfire, hungry and blear-eyed from lack of sleep, as the Skipper cooked some warm fish broth. It was then, for the first time, that Gilligan noticed the red-gold burning wood. He knew they didn't normally use it for firewood, and it struck him as odd – but he was too tired to ask.

That same wood burned just as brightly over a week later when Gilligan, caught in the throes of a night-terror, tried to flee the camp again. But this time the Skipper physically stopped him, and only the sound of the Skipper's voice snapped the young sailor out of his waking nightmare. The Skipper sat beside him all the rest of that night as the castaways kept vigil, singing songs and telling stories. As Mary Ann read aloud, "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light," Gilligan's eyes strayed to the magnificent bonfire that blazed in their midst, and the red-gold wood at its base that burned with such fierce intensity. He wondered where they had gotten enough wood to keep such a mighty beacon burning until dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning (late afternoon, really – no one had gone to bed until well after first light) Gilligan found the Professor in the jungle loading his arms from a towering pile of red-gold split logs. "Wow – I've heard of saving for a rainy day, but this is ridiculous!"

The Professor very nearly dropped his load. "Gilligan! Good heavens! How do you feel?"

And before Gilligan knew what was happening, the scientist tossed the wood down and enveloped him in a hug. Gilligan smiled; if they gave out college degrees for being an old softie, the Professor would have graduated top of his class. "Swell, Professor. What you guys did for me last night worked like a charm. I had the first good sleep I've had for ages."

The Professor pulled back and looked him up and down approvingly. "Shakespeare called sleep the balm of hurt minds. He was right...rest is the best medicine."

Gilligan shrugged and smiled again. "I don't know why he called it a bomb, Professor, but I'm with you on the medicine part. I don't know how I'm ever gonna thank you. All of you."

"We were glad to do it." The Professor straightened up, hands on hips. "So...have you had any breakfast? Or lunch, shall we say, since it's long past noon?"

"And how! The women cornered me back at camp and wouldn't let me move until I'd finished two plates full. I thought Mrs. Howell was going to put a bib on me and hold the spoon! Mr. Howell even made me one of his specialty omelettes. Funny..." Gilligan frowned slightly. "He wasn't wearing a hat this morning. I haven't seen Mr. Howell wear a hat in a while, come to think of it."

"Perhaps it's a new fad back home," said the Professor cryptically. "In any case, it's wonderful to see you looking so well."

Thanks, Professor." Gilligan looked about. "Say, have you seen my big buddy around? I wanted to thank him too for last night, but when I woke up he'd already gone. The others said they didn't know when he'd get back."

The Professor glanced back at the woodpile. "I'm not sure when he'll return either. But before he left he did tell us you were sleeping peacefully, and urged us all not to disturb you."

Gilligan saw where the Professor was looking, and his own eyes narrowed. "What's going on with him, Professor?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Skipper's been acting real funny lately: and not funny 'funny,' funny 'strange'."

"Well..." The Professor hedged a little. "He has been unusually protective of you, but surely that's understandable."

"Yeah, I know." Gilligan smiled gentlly. "He's been sticking to me like gum to the bottom of a chair for days, and you know what, Professor? I think I would have gone crazy if he hadn't. But the funny thing is, every so often he leaves me with you guys for a couple of hours and says he's got 'something he's just gotta do -' only he won't tell me what it is. Come on, Professor. Level with me." He looked the Professor in the eyes. "Is the Skipper okay?"

"You always did know him better than any of us," said the Professor quietly. "No. I don't believe he is."

"Then what's wrong with him? Let me in on it, Professor! I want to help!"

"I hope you can; I'm certainly not having any success. As for the Skipper's secret sojourns--" The Professor jerked his head towards the woodpile. "He's been collecting firewood."

"What? _That's _the big secret? Why doesn't he just say so?" Gilligan goggled at the stockpile. "And look at all this, for Pete's sake! What do we need all this wood for? If this keeps up, the island'll be one big field!"

"He certainly is determined." The Professor looked at the pile and sighed. "Or obsessed."

"Obsessed?"

The Professor nodded. "I'm afraid this is obsessive-compulsive behaviour, Gilligan. It's as though the Skipper's driven to keep chopping wood. I suppose it's his way of dealing with...with everything that happened."

"It's okay to say it, Professor."

The scientist hesitated, giving Gilligan a searching look. "Are you sure?"

"Uh huh. Don't worry; I won't run away. You mean that Kinkaid hunted me and I nearly died."

"Well...well, yes."

"And then I got so jumpy afterwards that everybody was afraid of what I might do next."

"Well, yes. Exactly."

Gilligan took a deep breath. "I'll be honest with you, Professor. I'm not out of the woods yet, and I'm not really sure how long it's gonna take me. But at least it's not so dark in there anymore. And it's all 'cause of you guys: you'll never know how much you helped me, especially last night. I can see things so much better now. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so." The Professor folded his arms, smiling. "You really are quite a remarkable young man, Gilligan."

"Oh, I don't know. But what about the Skipper? Why's he chopping all this wood?" Gilligan squatted by the base of the pile and picked up a log from the end. "And why just _this_ kind of wood? It's all koa, isn't it?"

The Professor raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's right, Gilligan. Acacia Koa, endemic to the Hawaiian Islands."

"Endemic?"

"It means it's found nowhere else," the Professor explained. "But if, as I suspect, Hawaiian natives reached this island hundreds of years ago, they would have brought seedlings with them. You see, the ancient Hawaiians prized this wood for its strength and beauty, and used it to build their great war canoes."

"I believe it. The Skipper and I used to see this stuff in Hawaii all the time. People make furniture and picture frames and surf-boards and ukuleles out if it..." He sighed, fingering the the grain. "Gee, Professor, it's just too nice to burn."

The Professor sighed too. "That's what I told the Skipper. But he insists the trees are an eyesore, and he's going to get rid of them."

"Like the bamboo water trough." Gilligan looked up. "Professor, why _did_ he chop that thing to pieces? It's almost like he had it in for it or something."

"I think I know the answer, Gilligan. I was there."

"There when? When he took the axe to it?"

"No." The Professor's eyes darkened at the dreadful memory. "When you fell into that trough after Kinkaid shot at you, and the Skipper and I thought you'd been hit."

"You thought I'd been...oh my gosh..." said Gilligan softly, his eyes slowly widening.

"You fell in, but you didn't get up," the Professor continued, his voice catching slightly. "The water was murky, and we kept expecting to see it clouding with blood. And Kinkaid was laughing, gloating over how he was going to claim his trophy."

"He said that? I couldn't hear him underwater," Gilligan whispered. "And I didn't know you were there. Oh, Professor. Oh, Skipper."

"Then you pulled Kinkaid's arm and burst out of the water...and we were cheering. But I'll be honest with you, Gilligan: after what we first saw, I never wanted to see that trough again either."

"Yeah...I guess not. Oh, my gosh. You poor guys. No wonder the Skipper got rid of it." Gilligan looked at the wood pile again and frowned. "But why hate the trees? I hid in the trees. They helped me. What do the trees have to do with Kinkaid and me?"

The Professor shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Gilligan. I would have said the Skipper was simply striking out in anger with his axe, but I don't understand why it's just the koa."

"Yeah..." Gilligan suddenly noticed a pile of smaller chunks and splinters near the main stack. "Professor, what's all this stuff?"

"Oh...just kindling, I suppose. Koa has an unfortunate tendency to tear when it's cut. I expect those pieces just fell off when the Skipper was chopping."

"Mmmm." Gilligan picked idly through the pile, then suddenly paused. He plucked out a flat, slightly concave piece that had obviously been part of a hollow trunk. A crude rectangular hole was bored in the middle: a hole no animal had made. Gilligan gasped.

The Professor looked down. "Gilligan? What have you found?"

"I think _I_ know the answer, Professor! Or at least a part of it." He sprang to his feet. "Listen, do you know where the Skipper went?"

"I think he went up to the north shore, by the mountains. There's a whole grove of koa there." He tried to see what Gilligan was holding. "But what do you mean, you think you know the answer? What is that thing?"

"I'll tell you later, Professor. I've got to talk to the Skipper. If I'm not back in time for supper, don't worry about me, okay?" And before the Professor could reply, Gilligan sprinted off into the jungle.


	3. Chapter 3

Gilligan knew he was on the right track when he heard the "toc, toc" of an axe biting into wood above the sound of the rushing waves. He rounded a curve in the beach and looked up to see the soaring mountains, green and glowing in the sunlight. A pair of white birds floated by on the same soft breeze that gently ruffled the fronds of the palm trees. Still that "toc, toc, toc," echoed through the air.

Gilligan headed inland, through the bush, until he emerged in a clearing before a grove of magnificent koa trees, the branches of the older ones reaching hundreds of feet into the blue sky. But jagged stumps squatted amid the grandeur like rude gravestones, and many of the younger trees lay sprawled upon the grass, their leaves and branches trailing like long hair. The Skipper was hewing into a still-standing one with all his might, his face red and his muscles bulging. He gasped and cursed as he struck with brutal fury. "How do ya like that? And that? Think you can do that – to us? You big – gun? You got another – think coming!" The great tree trembled with each blow.

Gilligan was overcome with pity for both of them. "_Skipper!_ What are you doing?"

At the sound of his voice the Skipper spun on his heel and dropped the axe. Fortunately, only the handle hit him square on the toe before it fell over onto the grass. "_Doop!_ Gilligan!"

Gilligan winced. "Sorry, Skipper."

Hopping, the Skipper clutched his toe for a moment, then sat down heavily on one of the larger of the felled trunks. "Gilligan...what in the seven seas are you doing out here?"

"I came to find you, Skipper."

The Skipper sat up instantly, his toe forgotten. "You did? What's the matter? Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?"

"No, Skipper. I slept just fine...thanks to you." The young sailor came over and sat down cross-legged in the grass by the Skipper's feet. "But how about you? You've been taking so much care of me lately you haven't had time to take care of yourself. I'm worried about you."

"About me? After what you've been through?" The Skipper scratched his moist red brow. "Gilligan, little buddy, what's gotten into you? There's nothing the matter with me!"

"Oh yeah?" Gilligan looked at the carnage on the ground, and on the still-standing tree. "Then what are you doing out here? Why are you cutting down all this wood when we don't need it?"

The Skipper shrugged evasively. "Well...I dunno. Just getting some extra exercise, I guess."

"Oh, sure. Exercise. Like chopping up the bamboo trough?" Again Gilligan was seized with pity. "Skipper, the Professor told me what you saw that day. I never realized, you know. Even when I jumped out of the water I barely even saw you and the Professor there, and I sure didn't have time to think about it." He leaned forward and rested his hand on the Skipper's arm. "I'm so sorry, Skipper. When I think about how it must have looked to you..."

The Skipper shrugged again, but this time it was barely a twitch. His voice was very low and tight. "Well, I...I thought the sight of that trough might upset you too, you know, little buddy. I had to get rid of it."

Gilligan cocked his head to one side, and the sunlight gleamed on his white cap and black hair. "But that's the funny thing, Skipper. You and me see it differently. I wanted to see that trough again because it made me feel strong."

The Skipper's eyebrows leapt. "It did?"

"Sure. It was the one time in that awful twenty-four hours when I got to fight back. It felt so good. I was too darn scared and tired for the feeling to last long, but boy, was it good while it lasted."

The Skipper glanced down at his big hands, where new calluses were forming where he'd held the axe. "I never thought of it like that. But it does make a man feel good: to fight back. A man...is supposed to be able to fight for what's right. To protect the weak."

Gilligan looked at the Skipper closely. "Don't you think you did that, Skipper?"

"What? Don't make me _laugh!_" As though a mine had suddenly blown beneath him, the Skipper lurched to his feet. "Of course I didn't! I was worse than useless! I let that maniac run riot over this island without putting up a fight! This whole thing would never have happened to you otherwise!" He snatched the axe up off the ground and stalked over to the wounded tree.

Gilligan sprang to his feet and gave chase. "Skipper!"

The Skipper had started hacking again. "Leave me alone, Gilligan!"

"No!" In desperation Gilligan grabbed the axe and hung on. "You wouldn't leave me! I'm not gonna leave you. We're buddies, remember?"

The Skipper shook the axe handle for a moment, and Gilligan trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind. But he wouldn't let go. Defeated, the Skipper let go the handle and stumbled off in the other direction. Gilligan threw the axe down and darted in front of him, swift as a fox. "Kinkaid had a gun, and he had Ramoo! You had three women and two civilians and me! What were you supposed to do? What do you think you could have done?"

The Skipper's face was in his hands. "Gilligan, I don't know..."

Gilligan pulled his wrists away. "You don't attack a destroyer with a pleasure craft full of passengers! You had to pick your battle! And you did!"

"Gilligan--"

"Skipper, sit down, huh, please? Just listen to me for a minute!"

Jonas Grumby heaved a great, slow sigh. "All right," he finally murmured, and allowed himself to be led back to the fallen tree trunk. This time his first mate sat down beside him.

"There's something else you and me don't see eye to eye on, Skipper. It doesn't make any sense...or at least it didn't, until now."

"What do you mean?"

"The koa trees, Skipper! Why do you hate them?" Gilligan's voice was soft and sad. "They're so beautiful and strong...don't you remember when you took me to see the royal palace in Honolulu? All that gorgeous wood on the main staircase and the floor? You said it was more beautiful than teak. You said it was fit for a king." He searched the big man's face. "It's because of the disguise you and the Professor made for me, isn't it? The hollow koa tree!" And he pulled the piece of wood with the bored eye-hole out of his back pocket.

The Skipper threw up his hands in disgust. "Gilligan, I can't even bear to look at those trees anymore! Of all the knuckleheaded schemes! I nearly got you killed! I should have left you alone! You were doing a better job without me!"

Gilligan shook his head gravely. "No I wasn't, Skipper. Kinkaid was getting close. You saw how close he got. He was going to get me."

"You don't know that, Gilligan!"

"I know it better than anybody. You remember after I jumped out of the water trough, and you and the Professor caught up to me in the jungle? You remember the state I was in? Could I even get up?"

"I...I guess not."

"You guess. Come on, Skipper. You _know_. I was finished. You'd never have caught up to me otherwise. And Kinkaid could follow a trail with his eyes closed – he'd have caught up to me too. His next bullet would have had my name on it."

"But it almost did! Because of that tree—"

"No, Skipper! _Not_ because of the tree!" Gilligan's voice rang with conviction. "If I couldn't run, then I had to hide! And that hollow trunk was a good disguise! Kinkaid never knew I was in there! He was going to leave, remember? Then he just happened to think of using the tree for target practice! It was just dumb luck, Skipper! It wasn't your fault! I had to move!"

"And then he realized it was you and he aimed that gun at you..." the Skipper looked away.

Gilligan gripped the Skipper by the arm. "Look at me, Skipper. Look me right in the eye and answer me. Why didn't Kinkaid shoot me? What stopped him? _Who_ stopped him?"

When the Skipper still wouldn't meet his eyes, Gilligan pressed his advantage home. "You did, Skipper. You pushed his gun and ruined his aim. He was crazy, you know. All he wanted to do was win, and you made him lose. He could have killed you for that. But you still stopped him. You were willing to risk dying for me...and you saved my life."

Now the Skipper finally looked back, and when his eyes met those of his first mate they were glimmering like the deep sea. Gilligan smiled gently. "And then when Kinkaid aimed again, and his alarm went off, you did it again. You pushed his gun. I saw how sore he was at you. Two sure-fire chances at me, and he lost them both, because of you. You took that risk _twice_ for me. Skipper, in my book, that makes you the best buddy a guy ever had."

The Skipper seemed to have lost most of his voice. What did come out could not have scared a seagull, much less have ordered battle stations. "Little buddy, I only know that...I couldn't have gone on if I'd let him..."

Gilligan held up the piece of wood. "Skipper, what's the word koa mean in Hawaiian?"

When the Skipper didn't answer, Gilligan prompted, "Not the name of the tree: the other thing it means."

When still no answer came, Gilligan peered at his friend, still smiling. "What's the matter, Skipper? Cat got your tongue?"

There was a pause. And then, "It means brave," said the Skipper, very quietly.

The first mate nodded. "Exactly. I always said you were the bravest man I ever knew." Gilligan shaded his eyes and looked up at the regal grove whose rustling green crowns shimmered high in the sunlight. "Skipper, every time I see one of these trees I'm gonna remember what you did for me that day, and everything you've done for me since. And I'm gonna think I'm the luckiest guy in the whole world." Gilligan cocked his head a little. "Skipper? You okay?"

The Skipper had turned his face away again and pulled out his handkerchief. After a moment came the muffled words, "It's just some sawdust in my eye, lamebrain. Like the sawdust in your head. Knock it off, will you!"

"Aye aye, Skipper." Gilligan grinned and hopped to his feet. "Say, why don't we take some of these logs you haven't chopped into firewood yet and make some surf boards out of them? I got pretty good when Duke Williams was here. I bet I could even out-surf him!"

"Are you out of your mind?" The Skipper looked up from red-rimmed eyes. "You can barely stay standing up on dry land, never mind at sea!"

"Then let's use them to rebuild the water trough." Gilligan chuckled. "You need a shave."

Months later, by the lagoon, Gilligan was bending over unpacking his lobster traps for Mary Ann when a string around his neck fell down and a golden-red pendant dangled in the air. Mary Ann peered at it curiously. "Gilligan, what's that? I've never seen it before."

"This?" Gilligan stood up, fingering the pendant. "It's my four leaf clover lucky-charm. The Skipper made it for me."

"Oh. But didn't you have one made of steel?"

"I used to. I like this one better."

She touched it briefly. "What beautiful wood! Is it mahogany?"

"Nope. Koa."

"Koa?" The farm girl smiled and raised an eyebrow. "That's funny. I thought the old song said you sailors all had hearts of oak!"

Gilligan shook his head as he gently tucked the pendant away next to his own heart. "No. Not the best of us."


End file.
